#On Repeat: On WYSIWYG

Familiarity breeds contempt. Something to think on the next time you recognise your own reflection

No-one who is used to having friends they understand and can understand them knows what it’s like to not be able to speak your mind with the people around you.

Nor can they understand the sense of relief when you lose your last solitary f*ck and you start speaking from the heart. It’s as if you’ve suddenly transmogrified into a evil universe version of yourself.

Like your non-identical twin has suddenly switched places with you. The same but not the same. The stranger in your skin. I’ve had that experience and I was as shocked and entertained at the words that came unbidden from mouth as everyone else in the room as I stopped speaking from the social script and said what I meant and what I felt. Truly felt.

We all wears masks. We’re not superheroes or supervillains but we all have a secret identity. The real us. There are very few of us who WYSIWYG. What you see is what you get.

We all lie. We all lie all the time.

Civilisation is held together by little white lies, half truths and fudged facts.

Have you seen the news? That was a trick question – you haven’t. Chances are unless you are a journalist none of us have really seen the news. What we get is the processed meat product of TV not the raw dripping fresh meat fresh from the scene. We are as packaged and prepared and edited as the evening news. Within and without.

TANGENT: I loved Sir Terry Pratchett and I miss him as if I knew him personally. One of the scenes that sticks in my mind comes from the Witches novel Witches Abroad

Granny Weatherwax looked out at the multi-layered silvery world‘Where am I?’INSIDE THE MIRROR‘Am I dead?’THE ANSWER TO THAT, said Death, IS SOMEWHERE BETWEEN NO AND YESEsme turned and a billion figures turned with her‘Where can I get out?’WHEN YOU FIND THE ONE THAT’S REAL‘Is this a trick question?’NOGranny looked down at herself‘This one’ she said